Moon River
by mumbling mice
Summary: Sometimes the Sniper just likes to be alone and look up at the night sky. But most of the time he'd like someone to be there with him.


The Sniper liked the night. It was silent guardian of nature. Silent speckles glittered overhead, and their ever-present gaze was a comfort to him. He found a sense of solace in memorizing them, putting names to their patterns as if they were people with faces.

He might even go so far as to say he liked the night sky better than he did people. It was a vast, mute blanket that stretched over the world with a maternal embrace. People were a bit more complicated.

He had crawled through the attic window on to the rooftop like an ornery cat, intent on making company with the night. The moon was plump and kind and the sparse foliage below swayed very slightly from the night's wind. A chorus of crickets serenaded him softly, and he let the cool breeze kiss his cheeks as he lit a cigarette.

There was a creak to his right.

The Sniper jerked his head over his shoulder to see a robotic hand pushing up the slanted roof window. A pair of bright blue eyes followed after, peering over the ledge. "There ya are, Mundy," the Engineer said, grunting as he heaved himself up through the opening, his guitar strapped to his back. "I damn near thought you'd up and disappeared on me."

The Sniper said nothing, instead pressing his stubby cigarette to his lips and turning back to stare out into the night.

The Engineer gingerly crossed the dark tiles to where the other man sat. "I was gonna ask if you wanted to watch _Hogan's Heroes_ with Pyro and Soldier," he said as he hunkered down beside his friend. "But it looks like you got a pretty good view up here."

"Felt like I needed to clear my head a bit," the Sniper responded with a shrug. He flicked the butt of his cigarette aside. "They're a good lot, but sometimes it's a bit too much."

"I can leave if I'm botherin' ya, Slim." The Engineer was poised to stand back up. "I can sympathize with wantin' some alone time."

The Sniper looked to the moon, and she said it was okay. The Engineer knew how to appreciate the quiet of the night. He was more than welcome to stay.

"Nah, you're fine, Truckie." The Sniper shifted his faze to the other man and smiled softly, shaking his head. "You ain't botherin' me one bit."

"Alrighty then." The Engineer shifted his guitar to his front and gave it a strum. "But don't be afraid to tell me if I am."

"Right-o," the Sniper answered.

Light chords dripped into the night and danced with the breeze. The Engineer had a gentle radio warble of a voice that settled warmly in the Sniper's chest.

"_Moon river wider than a mile _

_I'm crossing you in style someday _

_You dream maker, you heartbreaker _

_Wherever you're going I'm going your way."_

The Sniper closed his eyes, and the blood faded from his hands. There were no more bitter letters from disappointed parents, no aching loneliness huddled in a cold van. It was just himself and the man beside him who was almost wonderful as the night sky. It was a conclusion that came to him almost thoughtlessly, and when he absorbed it, it scared him. He wasn't sure of what to make of it. The blood and letters and loneliness melted into one and waved over him amidst the sound of something indescribably beautiful, and an awful stir of emotion began to rise in his throat.

"_Two drifters off to see the world _

_There's such a lot of world to see _

_We're after the same rainbow's end _

_Waiting 'round the bend _

_My huckleberry friend—"_

He stopped abruptly at the sound of a wet snivel. The Sniper hastily wiped the heel of his palm under his nose and turned his head away.

"You alright, Slim?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered shakily, trying to clear his throat. "Keep playin'."

The Engineer stared at him a moment, his hand hovering over the strings of his guitar. He then looked to the moon—she often gave the best advice.

In a moment she gave him a story, about a stubborn, stoic man that had given up on the world and nested in the bitter discontent of his loneliness, wallowing in the thoughts he desperately tried to keep pushed down at the bottom of his gut.

Her advice was to let him know that the moon wasn't the only one willing to listen to him.

The Engineer set his guitar aside and instead placed his hand on top of the Sniper's. The warmth of his large palm made his fingers tingle. The bushman drew in his breath and stiffened a moment, still refusing to make any eye contact. He was waiting for the Engineer to say something, but he didn't.

The Sniper felt the same sensation in his chest like when the Engineer was singing, that satisfying feeling like hot soup after a trek in the snow, but this time he accepted it for what it was. He turned his head to see the Engineer smiling up at him, and he gave him a reassuring squeeze.

The Sniper gingerly rested his head on the Engineer's shoulder. They both knew it was a strange thing for two grown men to do, but they had accepted the fact that they weren't like most men a long time ago.

They sat like that together until the moon disappeared. They didn't keep track of time, but it seemed like she left sooner than normal.

Perhaps she felt as though she wasn't needed anymore. And that was okay.


End file.
